If We Only Die Once
by Apalapucian
Summary: "I don't love you anymore."
1. Au Revoir

**AN:** This is going to be eight chapters. The prompt is (from forstanakatic on tumblr): _"Lily gets flak for dating James from the blood purists (while still at Hogwarts) and even though she never thought it would bother her, it does, and she gets kinda sucked into the belief that James' life would be harder with her in it and considers ending things quickly so as to save everyone pain but James finds out and becomes furious"._

And then an entire story grew from it. The chapter titles are OneRepublic songs, and the title is from "Something I Need".

* * *

**One: Au Revoir  
**_"I don't love you anymore."_

* * *

She's read the article four times in a row now, but her eyes stay glued to the paper. Her fingers don't shake. Funny. Her left hand doesn't grip the mug tight either. And she ought to, she thinks, she ought to, doesn't she; after all, she's got to find some way to channel the… _this_. Whatever it is. What even is this? It feels… hollow. Her body's gone numb. Is this limbo? Oh god, she's losing it. Something's starting to whir in her brain, something she's worked long and hard to turn off. She can feel it slowly reverbrate back to life. She's scared. She knows why it's there, she knows what it's saying, and she's scared she may finally give in to it. But her fear seems to have just knuckled down on her heart rate. No shaking this time. No lashing out. No biting her lower lip in apprehension. Her heart, just her heart, has gone absolutely, beyond control erratic. She's going to break here, now; Merlin, she's brittle, and it's cold, and something… something is _falling_ inside of her, or trying to gnaw its way out—but why then is everything else _so still_—?

"Evans?" Sirius calls from across the table.

She raises her head up a second too late to pass for nonchalance. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Spectacular."

"You're sort of pale," Remus says from her right.

"No, yeah, I'm fine." She drops the paper and takes a sip of her coffee. Her movements are too precise. Her eyes shift too often. Her fingers too dainty. There's a lump in her throat that she's struggling not to swallow.

_Stop it, Evans. Stop it. It's not_—

"Lily." Sirius again.

"Yes?" Does she always sound like that?

Sirus doesn't answer, however, so she puts down her cup to raise an eyebrow at him. He's watching her closely, frowning, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. Then he turns to Remus, who shifts in his seat and takes the floor for him.

"Lily, I know what you're thinking," Remus begins, "but you have to know that James's dad has been having these opposition problems in the ministry for a while, and it's none—"

"No, I know." She smiles at them. It frightens her how easy the pleasant expression comes, how determined she is to hide this from them.

"Yeah?" asks Sirius.

She nods. "Don't worry."

"Okay."

"So… are they going to take longer?" she asks, glancing at her watch. "I have to go up soon and cram some more details for a Charms essay."

"Not sure. James promised Peter he'd help him talk to McGonagall about that partner of his; he got paired with this awful Slytherin for that long-term project thing, git's got a vendetta against… Evans, are you _sure_ you're okay?"

She's started picking at her food with her fork, the silence egging the panic on to slowly catch up to her. "I'm fine, Black. Just… antsy. There's this—erm, this test later, and I haven't—"

"It's not _you_, alright?" says Sirius firmly. "This—" he reaches over to stab a finger on the newspaper, "—isn't you."

"Yeah," she says. She can feel Remus's eyes on her. "Yeah, I know that."

But she doesn't. And it _is_ her fault.

* * *

"Heard your boy toy's father lost his position in the ministry, Evans—where would you fish your galleons now?"

Lily looks up from the sink to the blood red, sneering smile of Demetria Greengrass. Her nails are glossy and as gleaming scarlet as her lips, and her annoying voice is magnified thrice in the empty loo. "Should've chosen Black, eh? Kid was a moron to cut off those roots, but I heard he bagged quite a lot from his dead uncle's inheritance anyway…"

Lily calmly dries her hands and combs her fingers through her hair, eyes steady and fixed back on her own reflection. "Wasn't your engagement to that Malfoy bloke called off, Demetria?" she bites back. "Because your father was stupid enough to get his name associated with those muggle murders last week?" Demetria looks like she just slapped her. Good. "Shouldn't you be worrying about that?"

Demetria reels. She crosses her arms, takes a step towards Lily. "Say that again?"

Lily locks eyes with her, just as cold. "Where would _you_ fish your galleons now?"

She's made her positively livid. Demetria stands to the entirety of her height and glares down at Lily, black curls practically quivering in rage. "My father. Is _innocent_."

Lily shrugs. "Cheers."

"I doubt you can say the same for yourself."

"Excuse me?"

Demetria cocks one perfectly shaped eyebrow, looks surprised at her own self, and then laughs. "I'm surprised he hasn't broken up with you yet." Lily stiffens, and the other delights with it. "It's your fault after all, isn't it? Your… _mere association_ with him, with anyone the likes of Potter—it brings hell to them."

Lily rolls her eyes, but her hands get clammy and the air has gone dry. "Quit the theatrics, Greengrass," she admonishes, "you can take your chance to play your dream villain on me all you want and you'd still be just some desperate fence-dweller who wants in on the crazy blood supremacist club."

"James Potter's father lost his job because of you," she stresses again, enunciating every syllable as if she gets some kind of twisted self-gratification from it, as if Lily hasn't heard it in her head enough since the _Prophet _came out. "When will you learn to slink back to your fetid rightful place, Evans? Who knows what else he's going to lose unless you stop being so bloody selfish?"

"I don't know, a pair of trousers?" says Lily, commending her mustered perfect tone of feigned incredulity. "Definitely _not_ the next Quidditch match. You sound like you fancy him quite a bit actually, why don't you go ask him?"

But Demetria Greengrass is relentless, positive that she has successfully zeroed in on a touchy subject. "You're the worst person for him, and you know it."

"Hey, that's almost concerned, friendly, soirée talk right there!" Lily retorts without a beat. "You want an invite the next time Mary fixes one?"

Demetria scowls at her in disgust. Lily wants to run away so bad, feels her insides recoil from her; but she can't let Demetria bloody Greengrass of all people know how much all of it is already driving her mad even without her so charitably pointing things out.

"How do you live with yourself?" Demetria hisses, and she might as well have just doused Lily with ice cold water.

The redhead grits her teeth, has to clutch the strap of her book bag to keep her fingers from shaking. Still, her cold-hardened eyes don't thaw under Demetria's sharp accusations. "I reckon I'd still pick mudblood over pathetic Death Eater groupie any day."

And then she gets out of there, because she's really not sure she can any longer fight the overwhelming urge to hex her.

* * *

He's been throwing her funny glances all night. She would meet his eye, he would grin at her, and then his face would fall almost immediately when she'd look back down her notes. He thinks she doesn't see. The confusion. The hurt.

Around eleven, long done with the Transfiguration pamphlets, she asks him what's up. She half-regrets it, terrified of what he may say. But he only leans back in his chair, deliberates for a second, and then, "Nothing."

Tonight they're quiet. The fire crackles in the hearth, and they pick up snippets of conversations from the few people left in the Common Room. Usually they would latch on one and make it the start of their own. They'd chat for hours. He makes her laugh plenty. She does him, too. But tonight it's just the rustle of pages, the flickering light, Lily's quill scratching against her parchment and James's stolen glances almost pleading to be caught.

Later, when she's at the foot of the stairs and he's gathering up his stuff from the table, he calls her name out rather desperately. Lily turns around—he's standing there, indecision plastered on his face, the grimace everything he wanted but couldn't say. Books and notes almost spilling from his hands, glasses almost falling off, shirt untucked, tie loosened. He sighs and flashes her a tired grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and Lily concludes, by the way she then wants to steal him away from here so much, from circumstance and blood and time and everything that is wrong about them right now, that it's simply impossible to ever fall out of love with the prat.

"We're okay, yeah?" he asks her, and her heart stops.

"'Course." She smiles. "Good night, Potter."

* * *

Eleven days.

Eleven days of half-hearted hand-holding, eleven days of looking away last minute that he ever only catches the corner of her mouth. Eleven days of empty laughter and pointed silences, of curt replies and quiet shrugs, of missing breakfast too many times. Eleven days of partnering up with Mary in everything; of shifting glances and pursed lips. Eleven bloody fucking days of tight smiles and half smiles and sad lingering smiles—those probably scare him the most, the last one, because most of the time it seems like she doesn't even know he can tell.

She wouldn't tell him what's wrong. She kept saying it's nothing. He knows what it is, but she wouldn't admit it, and he doesn't want to bring it up. Sometimes she would kiss him goodnight and it would feel right again, or she would draw herself closer to him by the fire and he would think, _oh, alright. Thank Merlin you're back._

She never is.

* * *

He feels stupid, rooted to this dimly lit spot in the library, fingers frozen over the spine of some insignificant Transfiguration book sitting on the shelf.

"I'm breaking up with him," she tells Mary. James's hand falls to his side.

Across the table, Mary gasps. "_Lily—_"

"No, it's okay. I—I've thought about it. It's for the best."

For the best.

Right.

_Right._

Mary doesn't respond at once, but when she does, the exasperation echoes loud off her hushed voice: "Is it?"

Lily is quiet.

Eleven days.

He thought he's forgotten some important date. He thought he's said something. A bag of caramel cauldrons sits on his night stand, a pathetic peace offering for whatever it was he did wrong.

He shoves the book hard in its place and gets out of there.

"I don't know," Lily answers, voice cracking, but James is already too far to hear.

* * *

The moment he hears it, he draws his wand.

_Mudblood._

Like it was some spell that compelled him to do it.

In a second his hand has left hers, wand already aimed at the offender's chest, eyes flashing. Fifth year Slytherin, she notes, and then nothing else, because the spell is already leaving James's tongue. He's especially irate today. Hardly half the day's gone and he's already taken fifty points off random students.

She quietly steps in between them, and he understands at once.

He sighs, mutters 'fine', and then drops his wand. He takes her hand. It doesn't… it didn't feel right, that. It was almost as if—did he just second guess it? Reaching for her?

She lets him envelope his fingers around hers. She knows she shouldn't, and she's been doing such a bang up job controlling herself around him lately, but she internally sags in relief at the contact anyway. Just for today, she insists. She can't help it. That second of hesitation from him hurt—is that how it would be when she lets him go for real? Will it be worse?

He clutches her hand tighter than he has (let him) in a while, and she is so relieved she forgets about everything else but the fingers skimming the back of her hand. She shouldn't care, not anymore, not with that she's meaning to do, but she does. Hell, he's right here beside her and she already so terribly misses him.

James tips his head sideways to glare at the Slytherin. He doesn't say anything, but Lily sees the threat in his eyes, feels the itch to retaliate in his fingers. The student feels it, too; he scampers off, throwing Lily one last menacing look when he's at a safe distance away.

She doesn't spare that a second thought. All she can focus on right now is the way his hand squeezes hers reassuringly, the way he looks down at her and smiles—have his smiles been looking more like the half-hearted attempts she's been giving him lately, or does she only notice now? Does she hurt him as much?

"Alright?" he asks her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She doesn't meet his gaze, making the excuse of straightening his tie. "Yeah."

He lingers on her face, searches for something she hopes he doesn't find.

She knows he doesn't believe her. And she doesn't need to ask to know he's not okay.

* * *

"So when were you going to tell me?"

He doesn't look at her. His voice is faint, calculated, and he doesn't look at her. He keeps shuffling the documents on the table in rigid, perfunctory movements.

From the couch where she sits with a Potions textbook on her lap, Lily straightens up. "What?"

But they both know she's figured it out.

"I heard you," James tells her anyway, "in the library the other day."

She takes a deep breath but doesn't answer. The sound of the papers repeatedly thudding against the table grates on her ears.

"So when?" he presses still.

Lily flips a page, testing the sharpness of the edge against her index finger. "I don't know."

"Right." He slams the reports on the table and gets a new stack, eyes browsing through the one on top, not seeing. "Because I waited all day yesterday, you know. Tried to maybe brace myself for it."

Lily bites her lip and tries to breathe through the heavy weight crushing down her chest. "I'm so sorry…"

"When then? Next week? After the bloody NEWTs?"

She sighs and closes the book, puts it aside slowly, as if she can make something out of the time it takes to get off the couch and walk over to him, as if she can think of a better way to do this.

"Were you even ever going to?" She's only a few yards away and he still won't look at her. "Or did you think you can just be detached and quiet and I'd just give up?"

"That's not what I want."

"Because I won't. Not ever. And neither should you."

"James."

"And it's stupid, this. Whatever you're doing."

She reaches for his hand, takes the papers out of his grasp and clings to him. He's shaking. "Stop."

"No, _you_ stop." He finally spares her a glance, and something about him softens when she stares right back. Or breaks. But he can't be broken, Lily reasons. Not yet. "I thought we were over this," he tells her, and he sounds drained. Eleven days. It's time to quit it. "They can all rot in hell, Evans. Nothing else matters. You. Me. _That's it._ That should be it. You know damn well that I don't give a single flying fuck about blood. You of all people should know. I thought… what, you're just going to let them get to you?"

"No, it's not that." Her walls are up, and her heart is gone. She can do this. She has to. "It's not about them. I'm not letting anyone—"

"Then _what_? Because you can't just call this off like that! It's everything—this is everything right now, Lily. You're not dropping me just because some narrow minded lunatic fucking told you you're not right for me."

"Please, James, it's not… that. Okay? Listen, this just isn't working out anymore, alright? It's for the best."

He huffs angrily. "Yeah. Yeah, I heard that bit as well. How exactly is breaking up for the best? Is it going to stop the war? Is it going to make those Slytherins lay off you? Is it going to make me not care about—"

"You're getting it all wrong," she says quietly.

"_Stop lying to me!_" he yells, wrenching his hand out of hers.

Her gaze weakly follows his hand; white-knuckled fist tight on his side. A distinct memory of losing him in a second—that sweeping terrifying feeling of being one second too late to haul him back, wand already out, blood already boiling, just because_ mudblood _has become his compulsion to throw himself out there—ices over her resolve beyond redemption. The world out there is not a school corridor. People man the frontlines, the brave aim their wands, but the enemy doesn't scramble off. Some die. Some lose their minds. _Mudblood_ is a death sentence for the citizens who _associate _with them, for those who could still otherwise be, at the very least, untouched by all of it. She brings hell. She should cut him off.

_You win, _she wants to scream at the world. _You win. _

"I don't love you anymore."

He draws in a quick, shallow breath, jaw slackening, eyes wide in a second of disbelief. She thinks she should repeat it, and she tries to, but she can't.

"No," he whispers, and Lily half-wishes he'd keep not believing.

"It's… I don't."

"_No_."

"I was curious—" _Walls up, Lily. Walls up._ _"_I gave it a shot because I was curious. That's all. But now… now I'm thinking that's it. There's nothing more to it. And I—"

"This is bullshit, Evans." His voice is dangerously low, the edges on his face back, defined to the cusp of its ferocity.

"I'm with you only because I thought…"

"You gave me a shot because you were _fucking curious_?" he snaps, incredulous. "Do you _hear_ yourself?"

"I don't love you anymore. I—I don't think I ever did. I'm sorry."

"_Shut up_." He rubs his eyes, pushing his glasses up, fingers gliding up to massage his forehead. He grits his teeth and says, "You're not doing this to me."

"I'm sorry." Because really, what else is there to say? "I'm so sorry…"

"This isn't it!" He snarls in sheer frustration, facing back the table and gripping the edge, weight falling on his arms. His eyes fix themselves on a particular spot of the polished wood, unmoving, dazed. "This is a cheap shot, Evans. I can't—I don't believe it."

"It's true," says Lily flatly. "And I'm sorry, but that's just it."

"Nice try._" _He laughs a horrible, empty laugh, and then turns to her with a glare that is more pained than mad. "_Nice try. _Hurts like all fucking hell, but you knew it would. I _know_ you knew it would, Lily, didn't you?" He straightens up. "Well, tough luck. I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."

"You have to. There's nothing for you here."

He steps forward and puts a hand on either of her shoulders, tipping his head down to peer at her eyes. "_You,_" he implores. "You're here. And you're lying to me. _Why are you lying to me?_"

She looks away. "I'm not."

"My dad lost his position in the ministry, Evans. I'm not dumb. I know what this is about."

"What's it about then?"

"You bloody tell me!" His hold tightens, his eyes glaze over. "Godric, for someone so brilliant you sure can be an idiot, did you know? I don't care about any of them! I don't care about where we come from, or what they say—Lily, _I love you_, I've been in love with you since forever, and I'm not giving this up! This is _thick—_letting this go would be the most pointless thing—"

"You don't make me happy."

His hands leave her. "What?"

"It's not about you, or your dad's job, it's about me. You don't make me happy."

A pause—hesitant, torn up—and then, "Classic line. I'm not falling for it. We're okay, Evans, you know we are. I'm going to fight for you. I _am_ fighting for you, okay? Stay. Don't give up on us. Don't let—"

"I don't want you. To fight for me."

"Don't—" He runs a hand through his hair, nails raking deeply, eyes screwing shut. "Don't do this. I know what you're doing, and you have to stop it. Don't let them get to you. Please."

His voice cracks, and Lily can't take it anymore. She wants this done, she wants it to end, she wants to leave. She wanted to do this quick to get started on the whole forgetting thing right away, because—because that's the way this goes, right? You let people go, you hurt, you take the guilt, you forget? She doesn't want to lose him. But she doesn't want him hurt either. _Who knows what else he's going to lose unless she stops being selfish? _Why can't he see that? Why is he so stubborn?

"Are we?" she demands, her voice rising as well. Frustrated. Scared. Mad that she's made to do this, mad that she's sold into this skewed judgment beyond reparation, mad that she can't convince herself to take everything back. That she has to be so madly, desperately in love with him, that it's so bloody difficult to keep remembering, every second of standing here, watching him fight for her so hard, _why _she's making him leave. "Are we okay? Do you believe that?"

"_Yes_!"

"I don't," she says cruelly. "I'm not happy with you."

He pauses, lets that sink in. He's so hurt, and he's so tired, and she wants it to end. But he just—he won't cave in. "You're just saying that."

"I don't love you, James." Maybe someday it'll be true. Maybe someday she'd forget how once upon a time he'd only hold her hand and they'd be _invincible_—maybe someday she'd look back and not miss the way the world melted away when he kissed her, the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt every time she pressed herself against him, how safe she felt whenever he pressed his lips against her temple. "I'm just being fair."

"These people are making you say these things," James keeps on, but she aches at the noticeable shift in his voice. More desperate now. She's nearly there then. Just a few more buttons to push, just a few more jabs at his heart, and he's gone for good. Gone and safe from her. "You're playing right into their hands," he pleads. He's convincing himself as much as he is convincing her now. "They want rifts, Lily, and this is one hell of a rift you're so generously handing to them, don't you see? I'm not going to let it happen. I _don't_ believe you. I'm not falling for this. It's pure, utter bullshit, and you and I both know it."

Just a few more. "James, listen to me."

"I'm _not _letting you go, Lily."

"You ruined my friendship with—"

"Wow," he cuts off scathingly. "_Wow_. You're… it's that bad, huh? You're using _this card_ against me? _Really? _You're resorting to this? _Unbelievable!_"

But Lily can't stop now. Not when she's almost done. "You're ruining my relationship with Tuney. And I'm—apparently I'm hell to your family as well, so—"

"Who told you that?"

"I—no one."

"Because that's not true, and I swear to Merlin I'll _murder_ anyone who's making you—"

"Will you stop and listen to what I'm saying?" she snaps, hastily wiping the tears traitorously dampening her cheeks.

He swallows, licks his lips like he does when agitated. He lets out a shuddering breath as he looks up at the ceiling and blinks rapidly.

"No one is making me say things," says Lily coldly. "No one is _getting to me_, d'you hear? This is me. All me. And you need to _listen_." _Some more. Safe from you. For good._ "I don't love you. That's it. Maybe I did, but it doesn't matter. You're not good for me. I'm not happy. I lost my best mate, I lost my sister, and I… I just can't be with you. And—and I'm sorry, about your dad, about everything, I'm really sorry, but it's not that, not just that, and I—I really…"

"So I'm ruining your life," he says. His eyes reflect the dying fire, but they've never looked so downcast to Lily. "Is that it?"

She doesn't answer.

There. She's done it. And… and she knew it was going to hurt, but she didn't think it would be this bad, didn't think anyone was capable of handling this much of a blow—it's _unbearable, _oh god; his cold, dead voice, his fingers slowly uncurling from its tight fist, everything about him crumbling before her, finally giving in, his face smoothing out and losing any trace of emotion.

"Is that it, Evans?" he demands lifelessly. "Tell me then. Look me in the eye and mean it."

"You don't make me happy," she says, looking him squarely in the eye. "You never knew me the way Sev did. And… I don't think you ever will."

It's the last card. If nothing else works, that will. He could maybe never believe anything else, but when it comes to Severus Snape, for some reason his certainty wavers. Only by a modest degree, but it does. She knows it does. Which is idiotic, she wants to tell him—_ridiculous, James, you're such an idiot—_because how can he? He's the best person she knows. Best person she ever will know. He's the person who knows her most, loves her most. The only one. Ever.

It's the worst thing to tell him, the worst she could possibly say, and it's not even true.

But it will work. That's all that matters now, isn't it?

And by the way he opens his mouth to respond, twice and nothing comes up, the way his hands rise to his face to clear his cheeks, to breathe through his fingers, the way he bites his lip and looks away, the way he shakes his head and lets out a cracked, shuddering chuckle that wrenches Lily's spine until her nerves shut down and she can no longer breathe, can no longer feel anything—she knows it did. That one finally got to him.

"Fine," he exhales, voice raspy and broken and so soft she almost didn't hear.

And then he's out the door.


	2. Apologize

**Two: Apologize  
**_"I don't think there have ever been two people more in love."_

* * *

New day.

The crisp rustle of sheets break the silence of the dormitory as Lily rolls to her side, sighs, tucks her hands beneath her cheek, folded as if in prayer. Her eyes traverse the edge of the drawn scarlet curtain, past the swirling dance of dust motes, aimless and free in the morning light. It's silly, but she finds herself imploring the sun to sink back down the silver horizon. Please. Just until she's ready for what's to come.

Breakfast awaits downstairs. The earliest of exchanges manage to slither through the thin slit between the door and the floor; thick and faint from the distance, but the excitement is unmistakeable. Mary is already up and about. Lily should get up too, but that makes all this end faster, and she can't… she's just not ready yet.

Summer is crashing upon her. The empty house in Cokeworth, one last trip on the Hogwarts Express, a war breaking.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. A certain part of her brain is persistent to take over majority of her thoughts. A certain memory. Very recent. She might have even dreamed of it. She tries to block it out, resumes her futile plea on the universe, plays the sunrise backwards in her thoughts—

But his face splatters itself on the back of her lids anyway, torch-lit and flushed, and everything else—his hands, his voice, _everything—_explodes in glaring colours with the sun, spills warm and gentle onto her palms.

She opens her eyes to a new day. There's no stopping it.

New day, _last _day.

And last night, quite possibly, was the last time she'd ever speak with him.

* * *

James is awake and refuses to be so.

The sun creeps into the room, reluctant and silent as a thief having second thoughts, blood red in the darkness of hazel eyes tightly shut. His hand darts out from the tangled sheets and grabs the nearest pillow with a groan, covering his face and blocking the spring thief out until his lungs burst and his fingers curl into a fist over his blankets. He pushes the thing up at the last minute, mouth open in a silent gasp, stars against his stubborn lids. The canopy of his four-poster is a brighter red when he finally opens his eyes. It makes his head ache.

New day.

He swings his legs off the bed, soles scolding the cold floor. Glasses on now, arched spine and hunched shoulders tense beneath his flimsy white T-shirt, he runs both hands through his hair and regards the sunrise with half-hearted contempt.

Last day.

If he doesn't talk to her now, he'll probably never get a chance again.

* * *

"Did they…?"

"No, I don't think so."

"No, I mean, _talk. _About… them. Stuff."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Yes, that's what I meant. I don't think they did."

"Where? And why were you there?"

"I was on my way to Dumbledore's."

Across them, Peter's hand hovers in midair over a jar of jam. "Dumbledore's? What for?"

Remus clears his throat. "Oh, erm. Employment." He doesn't look at either of them.

"Right."

More people are coming in to the Great Hall now, and the surrounding chatter is getting denser.

"You know that big arched window on fourth floor?" asks Remus, and they all carry on their mundane tasks as if a pause never occurred. Sirius opens the jam jar for Peter after much struggle on the latter's part.

"With the alcove?" asks Sirius.

"They used to meet there," recalls Peter, nodding his thanks at Sirius.

"Yeah, they did."

"And last night, they just went there?"

"Apparently."

Sirius chews on his toast, frowning at the table. "Did they agree to meet there or something? It's been weeks."

"I don't think they did."

"Did they see you?" asks Peter.

"I hope not."

"What did they talk about then? Heard anything?" asks Sirius.

"No…" Remus mulls over it. "I don't think they stayed there long. James was in the Common Room barely three minutes after I got back, and I wasn't gone long…"

" Moony, you don't think… do you think they got back together?"

"You lot are up early," cuts a fourth voice from behind them, and all of them start.

* * *

"Lily, you're not coming?" Mary calls out from the door when she realizes the redhead hasn't moved. Dressed and ready now, Lily doesn't get up. She studies the floor with an uncanny level of concentration.

"We talked last night."

Mary doesn't have to ask who; she comes back in and sits beside her at once. "How did it go?"

"It… I don't know. He didn't say much."

"Did you talk about it?"

"Yes. No. I—I don't know. Sort of."

"Alright." A pause, hesitant. Lily senses the question before Mary drops it on her lap, gently, slowly: "Are you two…?"

* * *

"No," says James, shoving a bit of toast in his mouth. His eyes are trained determinedly far on the Ravenclaw table. "We're not back together."

"Okay," says Sirius.

"Sorry for asking," adds Remus.

"Nah, it's alright," he assures them through a mouthful. "It's not a big deal."

Peter seeks someone to exchange glances with at this, but both Remus and Sirius shift their eyes. The silence is short, but choking. Peter breaks it: "Of course it's a big deal." A splinter of incredulity is recognizable in his tone. "It's _Lily_."

Sirius shoots him a warning look. Remus kicks him from under the table, but he hits James instead.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"Look, it's fine," says James, annoyed. "We can talk about it. It's been weeks. I can. I'm okay."

"Are you?" asks Sirius warily.

James glares at him, not sure if he meant to. "_Yes_."

"Okay, so, what happened last night then?" presses Peter, and Remus and Sirius give him a one-quarter pained, three-quarters baleful stare. "What? He said he's fine!"

"Yes, I am," says James firmly, the grip on his fork tightening. "We just talked. Caught up a bit. I was feeling stuffy in the common room last night, fancied a stroll, and she was—"

* * *

"Sulking."

"You were _sulking_," deadpans Mary, frowning.

"Yeah. Last day blues and all. It was a perfectly reasonable time to sulk."

"Also the perfect time to celebrate the year-end over illegally imported firewhiskey, which the rest of us were doing."

"I also did that," nods Lily.

Mary sighs. "And James found you?"

"He did, yeah. Somehow."

"Did he use that map of his?"

"I don't know. I didn't see it with him."

"You didn't ask?"

Lily grimaces. "Mary, I don't think 'did you stalk me here with your map?' would have been a good question."

"I suppose not. So what happened? What did he say?"

She bites her lip, fingers fiddling over her lap. "Erm, he said hello."

* * *

"Hello?" asks Peter.

"Yeah. What else was I supposed to say?"

"You could have walked away," Sirius puts in with caution.

"She saw me before I noticed her," explains James. "I didn't think it would be right to run."

"I think she would have understood," says Remus quietly.

"I didn't _want _to run, Moony."

"So you said hello," says Peter again, and James rolls his eyes.

"Yes."

"And?"

* * *

"And I said hi."

"Great," remarks Mary, nodding in feigned interest. "Seems like a great conversation so far."

Lily's laugh is empty. "There weren't many things to say, were there? I asked him how he was…"

* * *

"I said I was fine."

"Are you?"

Irritably now: "_Yes_."

* * *

"And then he asked me how _I _was…"

Mary narrows her eyes. "Please tell me you didn't tell him you were okay," she cuts in quickly. "That you told him you've been better."

"I told him I was okay."

* * *

"Prongs, mate, you're not okay," says Sirius. "You weren't bloody fucking okay when we found the dormitory thrashed that night, and you're not okay now. Why didn't you just tell her? She should know."

James frowns at him, the denial tingling on the tip of his tongue. He contemplates saying that weeks have passed since then and he doesn't feel like wanting to blow something up every time he hears those words in his head now, thanks so much, but ultimately decides that all the fuss isn't worth it. He's tired. These are his best mates in the world. And alright, fine, so he's not okay. But he will be. It would be so much easier if he just lets himself go with it, let the natural course of events—of emotions, whatever—take place, bring him where he ought to be, just wait for the proverbial end of the tunnel.

"I tell her I'm not okay and then what?" he says at last, pushing his plate away, not hungry anymore. "It wouldn't have made much difference."

* * *

"Lily, that was your chance! You should have told him—"

"I don't really have a right to tell him how I feel though, do I?" says Lily, the weak smile on her face a small attempt to dispel the exasperation seeping through her reasoning. "I mean, it would just have made him feel bad, and I think I've done him that favour enough that one night to last him a lifetime."

"You told me you didn't mean it," reminds Mary. "You cried for days, Lil, you were heartbroken, bloody inconsolable, and you still _are. _He should—"

"He shouldn't have to do anything anymore," Lily tells her clearly. "I broke his heart more than I did my own. If anyone has to do something, if anyone has to fix things, ever, someday, when all of this is over and he still… it should be all me. I did this."

"I was just going to say he should know. About all this. About what really happened and how you really feel."

Lily's voice is small when she asks, "You think it's wrong? What I did?"

Mary does, but she doesn't say. "Look," she begins, shifting on the bed to face Lily completely, "I understand the… intention, behind it. I truly do. And I—I know circumstance hasn't exactly been in your favour, both of you, and I know that things haven't been going peachy with his family over matters than you _think _revolve around you—"

"I didn't say they revolved around me, Mary. I just didn't want him to throw away the chance to live a peaceful life after Hogwarts because of me."

"I don't believe any of James Potter's favourite hobbies include any sort of peaceful affairs. Do you?"

"This is _different. _People die. They're dying out there as we speak. Being hunted. People _have _died. I can't bear the thought of having anyone hurt because they're with me, or because—"

"Do you honestly, _honestly _think that that boy's going to keep his meddling nose off all the mess now that you've broken up?"

"Hopefully."

"We both know he's not. Hell, the whole world knows he's not."

Lily swallows. "That's his call. I did what I could do. I gave him a choice."

"No," counters Mary swiftly, firmly. "I love you, but that's exactly the opposite of what you did. So I'm saying now, Lily, you give him a chance to give _you _another chance. Tell him what happened, tell him you freaked out, tell him they got to you and you're sorry and you didn't mean it and you _love _him—"

"_Mary._"

"—because you do. You _do._"

"I… It might be too late."

"He deserves to know."

* * *

From the breakfast table, some empty floors and moving staircases below:

"Do you think you and Lily would ever…"

"No."

"Why not?"

The answer still makes his jaw clench, still drains his face of its colour, but the world doesn't stop this time. James shrugs, and life goes on.

It's something he's told himself many times at this point: "Because she could never be happy with me."

* * *

On the threshold of the Common Room, Lily pulls Mary back in gently, for the last time, for one last broken question before Lily drops the subject: "I know I've done it in the worst way possible, I know I broke him and it was horrible and _I_ am horrible and he could probably never forgive me for it, he _shouldn't, _really, but… but if we ever… if I ever tell him, everything, do you think there's the slightest chance that he'd…"

Mary smiles, puts an arm around her shoulder and steers her towards breakfast. "I don't think there have ever been two people more in love."

It wasn't a yes. It didn't feel like one much either. But it's enough.

* * *

The students filter out of the train doors in excited, chattering clumps. Lily watches as eager first years run back to their waiting parents, owl cages and trunks too big for their small frames, some still in their uniforms. A number of seventh years have lingered around the station, swapping last minute goodbyes, doling out promises here and there, all too careless around words Lily's almost sure would break the moment they roll off their tongues. She can't remember how she's imagined this to be, she _must _have thought of this last day at some point, but her heart aches at the sight of all of it.

Mary hugs her goodbye, promises to keep in touch. Her tears cling onto her long lashes, but they don't fall. She smiles at Lily, sad and sincere and overwhelmed—_thanks for everything, Lily, I will miss you so much—_before she parts. Lily watches her disappear through the barrier with her parents. For a moment she imagines coming over to the Macdonalds'—they have, after all, extended an invitation as they always have—but besides no longer having Hogwarts to go back to this summer, Lily has to stay in Cokeworth this year. Petunia has owled her a few months prior. She's moving out. The house will be empty if Lily doesn't come home, and although she has right and reason to find a place of her own now too, it doesn't feel like the right time to leave yet. She still doesn't know what to make of that, of Petunia moving out; she hasn't been addressing it in any way back in Hogwarts. But now she has all the time in the world to wallow in the fact that she's on her own.

She hauls her trunk and pushes through the crowd. She's a few yards from the barrier, thinking of her mum—of quiet breakfast, of her dad's spoon clinking against the inside of his coffee cup—when James catches her eye. He's with his mother. Sirius has just come over to them when James looked around and found her, of all people, for some higher order's twisted joke maybe. His hand twitches, but it could only have been her imagination. She waves weakly at him in spite of herself, not able to go on without any sort of goodbye. Her heart rams itself against her chest as if it's beating its last. It _does _feel a bit like dying, she reckons, drowning in goodbyes and feeble promises and being pinned down without preamble by her favourite shade of hazel like that. She smiles at him, a sigh more than anything, lump in her throat and half her heart sliding down her sleeve. He smiles back. Nods stiffly. Then he shifts his gaze, fast, fidgety, unnatural enough for Sirius to finally notice. He follows James's abandoned line of vision and glances at Lily, but he doesn't linger for long. He resumes listening to Mrs. Potter's animated talk as if nothing happened.

Lily doesn't look back as she crosses over to the muggle world.

* * *

She's surprised when Sirius emerges onto the muggle platform shortly after, sans James and his mother. He passes by her; head high, eyes ahead, mouth thin. Lily crosses her arms.

And then she starts going after him, not really thinking on it lest she backs out.

"Sirius?"

No answer. It's a struggle to keep up with him, but she doesn't stop. They find themselves outside and Sirius still won't spare her a glance.

"Sirius…"

She moves to put a hand on his arm, but he tenses, finally turns to her with an impatient huff and a stiff half-glance; earnest in making clear how much he really doesn't want to deal with her. "Evans."

Lily feels herself shrink. "Look, I know you hate me…"

He cocks an eyebrow. "I don't."

"You haven't talked to me in a while."

"'Cause you're an idiot."

"I know."

"Do you, though?"

This probably was not the best idea. "I just wanted to tell you—"

"Is it me, really?"

"Sorry?"

"Is it me," he repeats, and although his voice maintains its steely slant, there's a new softness in his stare that reaches Lily and settles in the pit of her stomach as guilt. "Is it me you really want to tell things to?"

She swallows.

"I can call him back right now."

"No, don't." She doesn't know if she meant that, but it was out there before she could help it.

"Fine then." The ice in his voice is back. "What is it?"

Truthfully, she doesn't know. She didn't have a particular direction for the conversation when she followed him out. Trying not to let it show, she quickly racks her brains for something, and when she finds one, it's a relief to feel content about it. To know she means it with all her heart: "Take care of him, yeah?"

It is immediately apparent that it was the wrong thing to say. Sirius's jaw hardens. His expression blooms from the winter in his eyes, cold and grey as only a Black can muster. Before she knows it, all too soon, he's turning away again.

"I had to do it," she says desperately.

"No, yeah, you've had this conversation with Moony," he throws over his shoulder. "I got it the first time he told me."

"Sirius…"

"_What_?"

"I'm so sorry."

He's walking away. Lily doesn't know why she's following, but the strain on her arms as she heaves her trunk to keep up with him is very much real.

"Walk away, Evans."

"You're really never going to talk to me again? Ever?"

"Maybe."

"That's a shame, you know."

He halts, and Lily almost bumps into him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I don't know. I wanted to say sorry."

"You already did."

"And I didn't want to go out there where I probably would never see you lot again without… I don't know, I just wanted you to talk to me, and… here we are."

"You want to talk?"

Truth be told, Lily falters.

"You _really_ want to talk?"

Softly, and a little too much like a question: "Yes."

"Alright, let's talk." He turns around fully. He drags his trunk in front of him, a blatant, physical barrier, as though they aren't apart enough in other ways as it is. The thing makes a sharp, clicking noise against the ground, and Lily steels herself. "I haven't been speaking with you because I didn't want to say things that I would probably regret later, and I didn't want to hurt you any more than you already are, because I know—I _know_—you are hurt, you and Prongs can be as bloody fucking obstinate about it as you want, but neither of you are fooling me. I know you can't _entirely_ be some heartless, soulless bitch. And you know what, Evans? I want you to be. I wish you were a heartless, soulless bitch, I really do. Because if you were it would be so convenient, so much easier for me to hate you. But no. You're actually brilliant—were brilliant—not bad a company at all, and maybe I miss you, maybe we all fucking do, and it… this whole thing _sucks_. My best mate is out there perfectly, utterly convinced that he's ruined your life, that he's made you unhappy, and we both know that's not even a million universes close to the truth. He's hurt. I don't know how you did it, how the hell you _could_ do it, but it was a shitty move. I can't believe you. And I hate—sodding Godric, I'm _terrified_, alright, that we might not be enough to ever fix him. And I owe him. I owe him everything, Evans. You know that. And I can't do anything."

She doesn't think anyone's ever held anything as tightly as she does her trunk; her palms are starting to hurt, nails and handle digging on her skin, but she ignores it, wills all of herself to focus solely on not crying, no, she's _not_ going to, she has no right—but even without blinking the tears pool in the corners of her eyes and silently taunt her to fall.

But they won't. She won't.

"So if this is nothing but a well-intentioned parting reminder to take care of him," finishes Sirius, breaking pace, looking away upon noticing her expression, probably hating her for it, "it's fucking unnecessary. Also insulting, if I'm going to be honest. Forgive me for getting a tad bit offended."

So there. There's that, and Lily doesn't know what to say. She feels horrible, but she can't think of any set of words specific and accurate enough to tell him how much. There's the urge to say sorry again, and she opens her mouth—but decides against it. He's right; this is nothing but a lame attempt to speak to him about James, but it's not going to fix anything. It's unnecessary. Insulting.

So she nods. And then she walks away like he earlier bade her to, walks away as she should.


End file.
